


two serial killers in a car

by TenebrisKukris



Category: Evillious Chronicles, Vocaloid
Genre: F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Serial Killers, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28073433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenebrisKukris/pseuds/TenebrisKukris
Summary: two serial killers in a car, what will they do?(the answer is fuck)miclarith. i don't know how this happened either
Relationships: Clarith/Michaela (Evillious Chronicles)
Kudos: 4
Collections: Union Server of Evillious 24 hour ficjam





	two serial killers in a car

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another entry for the use ficjam, and it’s a doozy. the prompt this time was helping hand i was a bit stuck on it tbh until i remembered reading a fic with more or less the same premise as this one and so this fic happened. probably of a lower quality than my usual work but ive been really busy recently
> 
> I’m honestly surprised i havent written anything miclarith related for this fandom yet, but here it is. Im cooking up a few fics for the holiday season so mark your calendars

Clarith stares at the open road in annoyance.

Normally she wouldn’t be stuck in the middle of nowhere without a ride but her last quarry was particularly volatile and prone to committing arson, so she had to improvise a little. A hit and run isn’t her usual modus operandi, but the timing was just too good to pass up. A predator basking in light of his kill? The perfect setup for an ambush. Honestly she wished she had her camera out when she hit the bastard head on - the look on his face was worth every second spent in the wilderness.

That is, of course, if the storm clouds up ahead don’t fuck her over with some rain. If she wasn’t stuck in the middle of nowhere on a highway that doesn’t even show up on Google Maps she would’ve just called a taxi or something, but to make matters worse there isn’t even any signal. Perfect.

She considers trying to walk to the nearest gas station, but when her quarry inevitably gets discovered she’d prefer to stay under the radar as much as possible. Gas station security cameras are not exactly the definition of subtle. Still, being stuck near the scene of the crime as a _hitchhiker_ isn’t exactly the most subtle thing either.

Clarith’s about to take her chances and walk in either direction when a single car enters the edge of her vision. She puts out her thumb in the universal language of hitchhikers - fat chance that this guy’ll stop for me - when the car stops. She almost stumbles in surprise when it does, and the tinted window slides down, revealing a woman with teal hair in pigtails behind the wheel.

The woman slides down her shades, looking her over. Clarith feels distinctly uncomfortable under the weight of her gaze, before catching herself - it’s just a pretty girl, Clarith - straightening herself up slightly, slinging her backpack back up.

“Need a helping hand,” the stranger asks, and Clarith flushes. She didn’t think anyone would actually stop for her in the middle of nowhere but she isn’t about waste an opportunity to get out of the middle of nowhere.

“Where you headed,” Clarith asks wearily.

The stranger gives her a lopsided smile, “Calgary. I’m heading on a road trip, you see.”

She smiles, and the stranger opens the door of the car for her. “Thanks,” she says, settling into the seat. It’s a nice car, a recent make, by the looks of it, lack of dust apparent on mat - though that’s going to change if her boots and backpack are as dirty as she thinks they are.

“I’m Clarith,” she says, and the girl gives her a glance, not taking her eyes off the road. She feels a little bad for her, if worse comes to worse it won’t be a car accident that’ll do her in, but the stranger she unwittingly brought in her car.

Clarith hopes it doesn’t come to that. She does have a pretty face, after all.

“Michaela,” the woman says, and Clarith can catch the slight accent - her last quarry was Russian, after all. The mere thought of that bastard sparks a low thrum of anger through her chest; finding him was a task and a half and even dead he’s an annoyance. She quietly takes a breath, trying to get the annoyance out of her mind. It’s a long drive, after all, and she needs to be focused.

Instead of being silent the whole trip - something Clarith would’ve appreciated - the woman seems to want to engage in conversation. “So, you running from something, or running away from something,” she asks.

Clarith pauses. She _really_ doesn’t want to have to smash that pretty face into the wheel but she might have to. “Excuse me,” she tries to say with as much hesitation as possible.

The woman laughs something soft and melodious, and Clarith’s heart skips a beat. She swallows heavily as she pushes her legs together, trying to look as unassuming as possible in her blouse and jeans. Don’t mix business and pleasure, Clarith.

“You have the look of someone who’s always running, you know,” Michaela says, as if that makes any sense. She’s always been as unassuming as possible, easier to blend into the crowd like that, after all. “So it’s either you’re running from something, or you’re running to something, but you’re always _running_. So which is it exactly,” she finishes, as if she’s a cat that’s just caught a canary.

She has claws too.

If this were a movie, this would be the part where Clarith does a whole action scene - slamming the admittedly cute girl’s face into the windshield, then stabbing her pocket knife into her windpipe and finding a disposal site to get rid of the body. All in a day’s work.

“I’m a serial killer and I just killed a man with a hit and run, so I’m running from the cops.”

But this isn’t a movie, and Clarith is a useless lesbian.

To her credit, Michaela just snorts and continues driving, as if Clarith hadn't made a colossal mistake. She probably thinks I’m joking, Clarith thinks, relief washing over her.

“What a coincidence,” she says conversationally, “because I’m one too.” That gets a bit of a laugh out of Clarith though. “What are the odds,” Clarith can’t help but say, more relieved than ever.

“So, serial killer buddy,” Michaela continues with a grin, “what’s your whole schtick. Or your tragic backstory. I’m fine with either.”

Clarith hesitates for a moment, before going all in on what she’s going to say - Michaela surely doesn’t believe a single bit of it, and it’ll be funny in hindsight to give what’s paramount to a confession to a pretty girl.

“Serial killers; the sloppy kind that get themselves caught on CCTV,” she answers, and it’s true. It’s not the whole truth, but it’ll do in a pinch. “The types that have too many guns and not enough brains. Kind of ironic, don’t you think.”

“What do you mean?”

“That a serial killer hunts other serial killers. Who knows, maybe I’ve come to catch _you._ ”

She just laughs at the half hearted threat, and Clarith laughs with her. It’s nice to joke about her alternate profession once in a while. “So what about you? What’s _your_ tragic backstory. Or MO.”

“Oh, I eat the rich.”

Clarith goes slack with surprise. “No way,” she exclaims. She’s heard rumors of a cannibalistic serial killer with a pension of eating rich bastards around the country before, but still…

Maybe she can mix business and pleasure during this long drive.

“You’re the Robin? I don’t think a pretty girl like you could mangle so many bodies like that.”

Michaela stills. “They call me _what_.” The look on her face makes Clarith want to get out her camera but that might be a breach of politeness at this point.

“The Robin,” she repeats. “The serial killer who’s known for killing the rich and eating their organs and leaving a bloodied corpse left behind with something carved into their foreheads - it was pig or traitor or something, I don’t recall. Most of your kills get mixed up with the Shrike who’s tends to -”

“Impale their bodies on sharp surfaces - damn Lich for getting my kills,” she finishes, the speed of the car accelerating slightly as Michela hits the gas. Clarith doesn’t know whether to laugh or not at the idea of two serial killers bickering over kill stealing. Michaela’s looking at her now with an odd look, a more than a sprinkling of interest now, and something else hidden beneath those cyan eyes.

She wants to see it. It’s definitely a bad move, taunting a probable serial killer with a body count that triples hers but she’s lived her life taking some risks she probably shouldn’t - what’s one more in the grand scheme of things.

“Would you like to,” Clarith motions to the side of the road, offering. Michaela just freezes up slightly, before composing herself and smiling. It isn’t a nice smile, nor the type of smile that she expects to see out of a pretty girl, but one with too much teeth and tasting of blood.

Clarith crosses her legs to try and hide the wetness in her crotch as the car pulls over at the side of the road. Her heart rate skyrockets as Michaela’s hands hesitate over her shoulders, pulling her in for a kiss. It’s softer than she expected, rosy with a hint of lipstick. Not bad for a ten minute conversation with a stranger, but her hands are wandering to Michaela’s chest, clutching the soft flesh as they inch ever closer together.

It isn’t long before Michaela starts planting kisses on her neck, each one long and sharp, with just the bare hint of teeth on every one.

Michaela suddenly pulls back from where she was thoroughly destroying her neck and settles, almost breathless. Clarith whines, wanting Michaela to continue, but she still has enough sense to not press her.

“Tell me if anything hurts too much, okay?” _Because it’s going to hurt_ , are the unspoken words.

Her jeans are unbuttoned carefully after Michaela reclines the seat to give herself enough space and her fingers dig into the dripping core as easily as ever now. Clarith’s lying down on the chair now, an easy position for Michaela to start to finger her.

It’s not the first time she’s been pleasured like this before, hell, it’s not even the first time she’s had sex with a stranger before, but there’s a wildness to her touch, a rhythm that she can’t quite name with Michaela’s other hand teasing her breast in a way that makes her gasp and moan like she’s putting on a show.

In the end, release comes silently, anticlimactically even, when Michaela presses hard on her clit. It’s satisfying enough that she can’t bear to get up from her comfy position, even though Michaela tries to lean against her in the comfy seat.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Michaela says, wiping a load of fluid onto her blouse. Rude. She blows a slight gust of breath in her face, almost laughing. “Might I return the favor,” Clarith asks as Michaela seems to consider it.

Michaela giggles, “I could use a helping hand.”


End file.
